


The Kind in which The Gold Is Only Light

by Erradianwhocantread



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brief mentions of past trauma, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Oral Sex, Rule 63, Soul Bond, Strap-Ons, a very nice time is had by all, gratuitous and irresponsible use of metaphor simile and prepositions generally, including the following:, strap ons as adaptive tech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erradianwhocantread/pseuds/Erradianwhocantread
Summary: After Fingon is ordered to the marches, Maedhros suggests some methods of making frozen Himring more bareable that are quite amenable.





	The Kind in which The Gold Is Only Light

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Maedhros and Fingon are both rule 63'd. If you do not like rule 63, please go read something you will enjoy instead.
> 
> 2) Thanks to fidelishaereticus for edits!

“And then! Do you know, _do you know_ , Maedhros, what that _imp_ of an ambassador had the gall to say to _THE HIGH KING?!_ ”

Fingon had been pacing furiously before the hearth in Maedhros’s chamber in a state of dudgeon nigh worthy of Caranthir for the better part of an hour. Maedhros could repress herself no longer.

“THAT SNIVELING LITTLE COURTIER had the _audacity_ \-- what are you smiling about?”

“Tell me true, my Prince, did you journey all the way to the frozen marches simply to wear out my rugs and to tell me that which I already know, that Thingol is a pompous and self-important fool?”

Fingon huffed  and glared darkly at the fire. “It was not _my_ intention to come to your inhospitable wasteland at all, certainly not when the High King is engaged in such delicate negotiations with our most ungracious neighbor.”

At that, Maedhros laughed. Fingon whirled on her. Maedhros began before she could claim her dignity offended. “I did not think you would actually _admit_ that Fingolfin sent you to me to keep you from ruining what little relationship we have with Doriath. _Stars_ , Fingon, you could have at least tried to pretend you were glad to see me.” A low and obvious tactic, and they both knew it, but Maedhros also knew that it would disperse her beloved’s temper.

As predicted, Fingon deflated. She let out a frustrated groan and passed a hand over her eyes. “I _am_ glad to see you, how could you ever doubt that? I just…” An all encompassing gesture and another incoherent noise of frustration.

“And on top of all of that it is winter,” Maedhros supplied sympathetically. An affirmative gesture from Fingon. She had been not the least shy in her opinion that one of the perks of being a high prince was that she could command the Lord of the Marches to leave this frigid hellscape (so she had termed it) and come to her in the colder months. Maedhros picked idly at a loose thread on the upholstery of the arm of her chair while Fingon grabbed the poker from its stand and stabbed savagely and unnecessarily at the fire blazing in the hearth. “You know,” said Maedhros, not looking up, “there are ways to rid the body of tension and dispel the chill of the season that do not involve setting fire to my rugs.”

Taking one half of the hint, Fingon reigned in her use of the fire poker somewhat. “Yes, I am aware. Though sparring, riding, and running all involve venturing out of doors, and if you suggest that I _will_ make you wish I’d turned back with Arafinwe.”

“Then you will be pleased to hear that what I would suggest can be accomplished perfectly without leaving the comfort of this room.”

Someday, thousands and thousands of years from now, Maedhros thought, watching the realization of the meaning behind her words dawn on Fingon would probably get old. Probably. As it was she had to stop herself from laughing again as Fingon’s back straightened and then her head came to rest rather hard against the mantle in a fond exasperation. “Will I?” asked Fingon, trying and failing miserably to match Maedhros’s detached tone.

“If your Highness would like a small demonstration of what I had in mind, I could provide one. You need only put the poker back and come over here.”

Fingon complied, shaking her head. Maedhros heard her thinking _you are outrageous_ as clearly as if she’d spoken it.

Once Fingon had approached close enough, Maedhros looped an arm about her waist and pulled her into her lap. She realized that, for once, the tightness in the sides of her head foreboding a headache was not stemming from herself. At this range she could see Fingon’s jaw muscles standing out from her face. A fine look in battle. Unacceptable anywhere else. Maedhros allowed Fingon to kiss her with a mix of exasperation and hunger. It certainly worked well enough as a distraction. She broke the kiss once she had secured Fingon’s right hand in her left. “Did you put the bit in your own mouth instead of the horse’s, then?” she asked as she pressed hard circles into the muscled palm. Fingon answered her with a groan. “I, at least, have an excuse for grinding my teeth now, but your jaw is undamaged,” Maedhros chided and redoubled her efforts. Not until she felt the vice of Fingon’s impotent rage relaxing its grip on both their skulls did she raise the hand to her lips. She kept the work of her mouth arguably chaste, her tongue and lips merely supplying the place of her other hand. She worked deliberately, relentlessly, until ever so slowly Fingon’s frustration at being sent from the court like a pesky child was completely replaced with a different sort of frustration altogether.

“You said something,” Fingon murmured, “about ways to dispel the chill and relieve tension?”

Maedhros hummed in assent into the web between Fingon’s thumb and forefinger and focused Fingon’s attention more firmly on what her lips were doing and on the warmth of their bodies curled together in one chair. That earned her a scoff and a practically audible _Out. Rageous._ She looked up at Fingon as innocently as she could whilst sucking on the base of her thumb and raised an eyebrow, wondering loudly what else, exactly, Fingon had thought she’d meant by that suggestion. Fingon, of course, had no qualms about showing her, and the images flashing through her mind would have caused her to blush at one point. Maedhros wondered idly if she was even capable of blushing anymore. Tonguing lightly at the web between Fingon’s fore and middle fingers halted the salacious display and she could feel the way Fingon’s insides squirmed, the way the sensation shot straight to her belly and her loins. She did not let any of that quicken her pace. Fingon managed almost thirty seconds of the light caresses without moaning. Maedhros considered, briefly, being merciful and carrying her beloved to her bed or laying her out before the hearth. But mercy was not something she was known for. Fingon was eager for her to use her teeth as well. Instead Maedhros placed a long, soft kiss upon her palm and then dropped her hand entirely.

Frustration at being so teased warred in Fingon’s mind with a hopeful optimism that this meant the opening salvo was about to give way to the main event. But Maedhros was in no way finished with this. She turned Fingon in her lap so she was facing away and set about undoing the elaborate geometry of pins and tucks with which she had secured her braids for travel. “No wonder your head ached so! You have enough gold in your hair to bedeck half of Himring. And you’ve pulled your braids so tight…” It wasn’t any special effort for Maedhros to take an age to remove every bit of jewelry and unwind every twist, but she made one anyway. Why hasten what would come? She made a point to let the impeccably trimmed nails on her hand barely scrape against Fingon’s scalp at every pass, made sure her face was positioned so her breath ghosted over the tip of Fingon’s ear at every exhale. It was oh so gratifying to feel Fingon’s head turn to follow her fingers, feel her lean back against her as every muscle unwound, only for her breath to catch and her back to arch when Maedhros pulled a bit removing an ornament. Maedhros kissed her head where she had “offended” and purred an apology. That was rewarded with a shudder. The wild heat of rage that had burned in her beloved was slowly, slowly being banked and fanned and focused and eventually, eventually this smoldering would set spark to all that supple and yielding tinder Maedhros was setting for it, and Fingon would seize her… but not yet. Not yet. There was a flicker of disappointment from Fingon that Maedhros would not allow herself to be carried away, but that was not the game.

Finally, Maedhros had rid her beloved of all the ostentatious ornamentation she could without undoing the hundreds of tiny braids, each with their fine strands of gold wire. She began running her hand slowly, with a deliberate pressure, up from the nape of Fingon’s neck to the crown of her head and back down again, feeling her way around the braids, relishing the subtle dips and crests of her skull, the peculiar softness of the skin between the furrows of her braids and the tickle of the rare escaped hair against her fingers. She worked methodically from the left side of Fingon’s head to her right, moving only the barest fraction of an inch rightwards on each stroke.

Seemingly by accident, Maedhros brushed the edge of her ear. She felt a shiver pass through Fingon, felt her tightly wound body loose itself further while the spring in her belly coiled tighter. Her fingers traced their way over the sensitive space behind the ear, along its edges again and again, the nails scraping ever so lightly at the point of it. Each time, Fingon’s breath hitched, and each time, Maedhros felt that delicious eagerness tilt _just_ further towards its break. Under the guise of thoroughly working over the right side of Fingon’s head, Maedhros let her forefinger follow the dip and curl of the ear, tracing under the folds, working ever and slowly inwards, pulling against the ridge of cartilage as her hand began the journey back to the other ear. Having only one hand was, after all, no excuse for only servicing one half of her beloved. This time she let herself tug on the braids. More visions floated into her mind, of her tugging Fingon’s hair much more firmly, and in a much different position, with much fewer clothes. The visions were no longer suggestions being sent to her on purpose. They were not suggestions at all. They were anticipations, burning so hot that Maedhros could hardly help but see them.

Under the false guise of benevolence, Maedhros caved to the demands of symmetry and opened her mouth to follow the motions of her hand on the left ear with her tongue on the right. Fingon’s shoulders jerked against her chest and her hips jerked in her lap. The sounds stuttering from her throat were delightfully needy, oh yes, but not _quite_ needy enough.

 _More, please, yes, aaaaaAAAARRRGH, teeth, bite_ there, _pinch, please, please_

It was unlikely that Fingon meant any of her incoherent thoughts to be perceived so clearly, and it would not be to her benefit that she allowed it. Maedhros retracted her tongue and instead began running the tip of her nose along the space where Fingon’s ear joined her skull. The epithet that ran through Fingon’s mind at the substitution must have been a linguistic innovation of the grinding ice, for while it was certainly vile, Maedhros had never encountered it before. Perfect. A few more suggestive passes about Fingon’s ears to tune her _precisely_ , and Maedhros dropped her hand to rest warmly on her shoulder and placed the lightest of kisses just below her ear. “And now you are warm and relaxed, and, as promised, my Prince, never had to set foot out of my chambers.”

Fingon whipped around to glare at her. Maedhros could have laughed at the betrayal flashing in her eyes had this not been _exactly_ where she wanted her. She plastered her most infuriatingly innocent and confused expression over her face as Fingon gaped at her with the righteous incredulity of someone who cannot quite believe that anyone could have that much gall. It would not take much now. Maedhros raised an eyebrow imploringly. “Was it not to your liking?”

The massive wave of incensed exasperation and tightly (expertly) wound frustration from Fingon set Maedhros’s head spinning. A fine way to lay waste to her control (as if one was needed at this point). Fingon lept from her and pulled her roughly from the chair, crushing her lips with the force of her kiss. Maedhros absorbed the tempest that Fingon let loose upon her with the same sweet satisfaction that she watched a storm that had glowered and threatened and set the teeth of the air on edge all day finally crack the sky open with its release. She did not resist as Fingon pressed her tongue between her lips, let herself be overcome by what she had wrought, let the way Fingon’s tongue felt pressing against the roof of her mouth flood her senses, bannish the low static of watchfulness completely. She let her world narrow to the frenetic impatience with which Fingon was attacking both of their clothes, the way Fingon was sucking and biting at the underside of her jaw _just_ too hard for comfort (how fortunate that winter in Himring necessitated high collars). “I thought you wanted to chase away the chill, my love, not invite it,” she quipped as Fingon threw a thick garment unceremoniously to the floor. Fingon growled in response, the vibrations against Maedhros’s throat sending a thrill down her spine, and pushed her against the warm stone of the surround, too hard.

Fingon, of course, realized her miscalculation as soon as it was too late to remedy it. As Maedhros collided with the smooth stone (this would be the third distinct bruise and Fingon had not even gotten her out of her shirt yet!), she saw concern and contrition douse the flame she had so carefully fanned in Fingon’s eyes. Apologies and any associations that came with them would ruin this entirely, and so must not be allowed. Before Fingon could destroy all her careful work, Maedhros slipped her hand around to the back of Fingon’s head, pulling her into a warm kiss. She brushed the lingering sour notes away, let Fingon feel the deeply buried seed of _want_ growing within her, let her feel the effect her own intemperance had (like spring rain), reached in to draw the storm back out. She was not disappointed. The fire cracked beside them as Fingon saw to it that the bruising on her neck was symmetrical and tore the seam of Maedhros’s shirt in her hurry to have it off.

Knowing how to catch oneself properly after being thrown to the floor was truly an underrated skill, as it meant one’s beloved never had to worry for one’s safety if the floor happened to be the most convenient place for coupling, even when said floor was strewn with a sumptuous excess of rugs and cushions. “I believe my initial suggestion,” Maedhros said, propping herself up on a pillow and staring intently as Fingon rid herself of her own clothing, “was that you find a way to spend your energy that did not ruin my carpet.”

Fingon halted with her undershirt halfway off, all the dignity of her station somehow still managing to shine from her in this state. “Keep this up and I will be forced to assume you really do mean for me to take to the practice yard,” _you absolutely maddening creature_ . And below that, below the blaze of passion and the frustration, lurked the serious warning, that she could only tolerate so much of Maedhros’s false reluctance, that there were things she would not let Maedhros make her into, even in jest. _Keep this up and I will think that you mean it_.

To her credit, Maedhros did not say “I’ve never liked this pattern anyway,” which she was sorely tempted to do. However, “If you had let me finish, you would have heard that, upon further consideration, my initial suggestion lacked both imagination and daring, which I am pleased to see you have remedied,” which she did say, was not much better.

Fingon threw the shirt to the floor with a huff, clearly annoyed that Maedhros was still capable of such cheek. Oh, but she was fair in the fire-light, and Maedhros did nothing to stop the bright flush from spreading across her chest at the sight. The gold in Fingon’s hair flickered, the glow of the flames off her mahogany skin gave the illusion that all of her radiated light, not just her eyes… and, Maedhros noted, while neither of them had fulfilled Fingon’s promise that they’d become round as seals, Fingon had lost the gaunt look the ice had given her, and the softer flesh that covered the hard lines of her muscles like a blanket of snow suited her well. Perhaps, Maedhros thought, she had misjudged. Perhaps _this_ was exactly where she wanted Fingon, standing over her, radiant, and most importantly where she could see her to such an advantage.  

Fingon did not take the opportunity to preen, but how could Maedhros be disappointed with the alternative? Her beloved fairly pounced on her, biting fiercely at her ear, bald revenge for her cruel tenderness earlier. It was too hard, and Fingon had not paid particular heed to how her body had landed, so that here and there the weight crossed the line of comfort, and her hands at Maedhros’s breast and on her arm gripped too tightly but _oh_ how lovely, to be so covered by one who could and who did forget their own strength, who did not calculate. But there were rules, however Maedhros might like to let herself be swept away on this rushing current, there were rules, and it was not only herself she must consider.

“Stop.”

Fingon’s compliance, as always, was immediate. She sat back on her heels, and again Maedhros had to forestall an apology (that she could even think she had anything to apologize for!), letting the gates of her own mind ease open so that Fingon might know, might understand that it was nothing serious, nothing for her to fret over, that she was sweet and fair and so, so intoxicating, that all she had done had been to make Maedhros feel safer and more whole than she’d thought she could anymore.

“Too hard?” Fingon asked.

“Only just,” said Maedhros. “And I think all your weight was on stomach.”

Fingon smiled, and that bright storm gathered again behind her eyes. Maedhros swallowed, her heart turning over, and held her arms out for Fingon to return to her. Her face must have done something embarrassing when instead  Fingon sat back further on the rug, because Fingon laughed at her. “And to think you almost had me convinced that I was the impatient one!” she said while removing her trousers and stockings. Maedhros propped herself up on her forearm to undo the snaps on her own and toss them aside, followed by her wool stockings. She was scarcely out of them when Fingon was atop her again, perfectly positioned, and Maedhros groaned as the weight of her pressed her firmly into the plush rug and the whispering curtain of braids brushed across her cheeks. Fingon lost no time in resuming her attack upon Maedhros’s ear, alternating pressing her tongue forcefully about the interior ridges and worrying the edges of it with her teeth. Maedhros arched into her and squirmed in that delightfully firm grip, trying vainly to tangle their legs together. There had been one time where Fingon had managed to bring her off with little more than such attention to her ears, and while it would only be a just vengeance, Maedhros hoped she would prove merciful.

She felt the amusement that her worry sparked in Fingon, and carefully put aside the possibility for panic at not having deliberately let her into her mind. When they were this close, Maedhros reminded herself, it was not as if Fingon could help it. She pushed that door open further, purposely, to let Fingon understand (as if she needed help to do so) the effect of her glorious onslaught in all its depth. That proved to be an excellent choice. The shadow-sensations had Fingon stifling a moan into her ear and pushing her hips up along Maedhros’s belly. The intimate brush of the soft, coiling hairs between Fingon’s legs on her skin pulled the breath from Maedhros entirely. Fingon smiled around her earlobe and repeated the motion a few times in response.

But this was not to be a soft, cerebral lovemaking. Fingon’s full and smiling lips left her ear and returned to her mouth, biting at her lip, thrusting her tongue in, over the surface of her own tongue three times. And then she turned her fierce attention to Maedhros’s neck (oh, how it would bear such lovely marks on the morrow), and then to the protrusion of her collarbone. Fingon nipped hard there, harder than she would usually agree to. A high gasp of pleasure escaped Maedhros’s chest, but she caught the half-playful chide Fingon flashed at her for not having quite managed to trade the skeletal look of a captive for a wholesome covering of flesh. Fortunately, Fingon immediately began kneading at her breast and all thought was driven entirely from Maedhros’s mind. Fingon readjusted herself astride her, sliding down so she could bend to lavish the other breast with firm, open-mouthed kisses. Her vulva pressed into Maedhros’s abdomen, and the warmth of it, the way the hairs tickled at her, the slick liquid pooling on its lips, combined with Fingon biting at the underside of one breast and pinching the nipple of the other, set Maedhros groaning in earnest. The barest suggestion of smugness flitted past her mind’s eye. Well, Fingon ought to be proud of herself. Maedhros was not a particularly vocal lover, and _this_ …

Did not last nearly long enough. Flattering as Fingon’s impatience was, it was as frustrating in its own right as Maedhros’s ponderous attention to detail. No matter what she knew the end would be, no matter how she knew that what would come would be infinitely better than what currently was, she couldn’t bring herself to want anything more or less than exactly what Fingon was doing to her in the moment. But of course Fingon had larger ambitions than straddling her and fondling her breasts. Maedhros spread her legs and lifted her rear so Fingon could slide a cushion under it. She considered remarking that she’d never much cared for that cushion to distract Fingon from distracting herself by tracing the terribly precise lines of scarring across her abdomen. Instead she directed her attention and Fingon’s decidedly at the way her nethers were practically buzzing with anticipation.   

Maedhros keened and shuddered as the length of that broad, noble nose rubbed across her clit. She fought the instinct to bite her own fist as Fingon began to lick at it, her tongue making forceful, relentless passes that sent electricity sparking through Maedhros’s entire body. Her mind seemed to sink down to that one tiny point of contact, as if it were the entirety of her being. Maedhros gripped the braids at the nape of Fingon’s neck, tugging at them reflexively. Fingon hummed appreciatively into her. It wasn’t just the vibrations against her most sensitive area that had Maedhros twisting and whining on the rug. She was no longer in the habit of thinking of her body as fair and lovely, was no longer in the habit of thinking of her body at all if she could help it. But the hot desire she could feel coursing through Fingon, the way she buried her face in her like the sweetest nectar in Arda were contained there and she would die without it, the wisp of her own pleasure she could feel bouncing back to her along their bond anchored her back into herself, with all the shock and sweetness of returning home after a very long time away. She did not notice the way the pleasure of each stroke built upon itself, the way Fingon’s grip on her hips tightened to keep her from grinding against her face, she was so intently focused on the particular maddening sensation of her beloved’s tongue wet and hot against her. And so her climax took her nearly by surprise. A high, stuttering note forced its way out of her and she yanked hard on Fingon’s braids as pleasure crested, peaked, and then crashed down on her. Fingon kept pace until she stopped shaking, and would have happily continued to do so had Maedhros not stopped her. Fingon sucked the too-sensitive nib between her lips before she allowed Maedhros to tilt her chin up, reluctant to let this end.

Gratifying as that was, Maedhros needed her lips elsewhere now. Fingon obliged, scrambling up her as she lay boneless against the cushions to kiss her deeply. Maedhros wrapped her legs around one of Fingon’s thighs, pressing her pleasure-swollen vulva against it. She pulled Fingon close over her, basking in her warmth, her comforting solidity, and the tingling aftershocks reverberating through her. She ought to move, ought to do something about her beloved still unsatisfied, ought certainly not to be so selfish as to drift to sleep like this, and yet to move, to push her beloved off of her, even a little, seemed at least as impossible as swimming to the edge of the outer sea. But she was blessed, so blessed, to have one so infinitely generous as Fingon, who pressed kiss after kiss upon her as the pleasant lassitude eased its way out of her limbs.

Their kissing progressed gradually from languid indulgence to passionate caresses as the energy which had seized them both earlier seeped seamlessly back into them. After Fingon gave a soft moan, Maedhros left off sucking on her bottom lip and tilted her head away until they were at comfortable distance for speaking. “I just remembered,” she started, suppressing a bark of laughter at the dramatic way Fingon’s face fell and the way she could feel the mock threat of what would happen if it turned out she had riled Fingon up only to leave her wanting. “I never gave you the present I’ve been saving for you.”

They had both been altered beyond recognition in so many ways, but in this one, Maedhros believed, Fingon had nothing changed since they were children. Immediately, her face lit up as if she were trying to compete with the sun. If she could have clapped her hands without faceplanting onto Maedhros, she probably would have. “You got me a present?!?”

Maedhros smirked. “I did, at that. Had it specially commissioned. Took masters in multiple disciplines to complete. Would you like it now, or would you like it later?” A true battle was now happening within Fingon over which gratification to delay. Maedhros decided it was only fair, considering, that she be merciful. “It may be beneficial if you were to have it now. It is… apropos.”

A flash of suspicion, as Fingon knew she was far from above doing something like this to lengthen her torment, but she scrambled off of Maedhros. “What is it?” she asked excitedly as Maedhros crossed to remove it from the trunk near her bed.

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise!”

Nevertheless, Fingon continued her interrogation as Maedhros presented the oddly-shaped bundle for her to unwrap. “You said it was apropos… is it some sort of scented oil? Did Finrod finally work out the details on modifying prosthetics?”

“Open it and you will find out!”

Fingon hastily unwound the scarlet scarf. She stilled abruptly when she saw what it contained.

Maedhros waited longer than she had ever had to wait for a reaction to a gift from Fingon before concluding, “You don’t like it.”

Fingon swallowed audibly, still staring at the contents of the parcel. “It… it is certainly a fine bit of working, and quite beautiful…”

Feeling suddenly the need to justify herself, Maedhros offered “It’s just I had been thinking… you enjoy being filled, and you enjoy it when I can bring you off myself, without you having to… anyway,” she held up her right arm where it ended in a stump, “I can hardly do both at once anymore. And--”

“But these straps are not for your arm.” Fingon’s tone was one more of astonishment that anything else.

Maedhros felt no displeasure from her, and she knew even if she had it would have carried no danger, but old habits died hard, and again she had to remind herself not to panic. “...No. No, I thought, because sometimes, with the pressure on the wrist, the next day, so i thought--”

Fingon leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Maedhros felt the reassuring warmth of her love curling around her to send her anxiety scurrying back to the dark corners of her mind where it belonged. “I’m just not used to you taking such…” Fingon gave the package a pensive look. “Initiative.” She ran her fingers over the contents thoughtfully. “Though. It is made of glass. Is there any worry of--”

“None. It was tested. Perfectly smooth, uniform thickness, and it would take significantly more pressure than the muscles in question could give for it to crack.”

Fingon lifted the length of glass so that the firelight would catch it. “It truly is beautiful,” she said as she examined it. And it was, threaded through with bright blue and scarlet which met in varying shades of fuchsia and violet.

Yet Maedhros had not had this made for her to admire. She reached out to brush the back of her fingers across Fingon’s cheek, spreading and turning them at her jaw to catch it _just_ so, and then, slowly, slowly down her neck. She watched Fingon’s eyes flutter shut with great satisfaction, revelled in every detail as Fingon’s breath caught at the barest scrape of nails when her hand turned to make its way back up, the way her shoulders sagged, the jolt that went through her core… and she caught her hand on her stump just as she was about to let her present fall to the floor. Fingon set it back in the scarf and placed the bundle on the rug beside her hastily before leaning in to meet Maedhros’s lips. Maedhros kissed the way she forged alliances. She was unhurried. She was thorough. She was determined. And Fingon was no match at all for it, melting deliciously against the carefully applied heat. She slid her fingertips down, down, over Fingon’s breast and belly and down still, giving herself a moment to luxuriate in the soft crop of hair before sliding a long finger into the dip between her labia and over the ridge of her clit. She circled it slowly as Fingon whimpered into her mouth. Liquid heat built in Fingon’s loins, one degree at a time, and Maedhros continued the motion implacably. She slid her right arm about Fingon’s shoulders so that her braids would fall over it. They whispered over her skin with every shudder of delight.

As before, Maedhros felt as if her whole existence were focused on those small points of contact between her and her beloved. The solidity of that strong back against her arm, the sweet rasp of the braids over it, the pliant heat of her mouth, the silken firmness of her sex, warm arms encircling her. And as before she felt (ah, so rare, so infinitely precious), completely safe. She rested her mind against Fingon’s, hesitating only an instant, and let herself fall  forward.

The bright and shining warmth of Fingon’s spirit enveloped her. It was as if she were drowning in sunlight. And to mingle spirits like this… they had exhausted each other with little more so many times. To know her own effect was one thing, but to feel it, ah… to know how the burning flame of her own spirit drove the ingrained chill from her beloved entirely, to feel Fingon’s joyful surprise at having her so thoroughly as her own… oh it was a rare pleasure indeed. And then to feel how open and how wanting Fingon’s body was… but not yet. To feel it was not quite enough. Maedhros wanted to hear it.

She felt the exasperation at her desire as well. “Put it on,” Fingon asked, breaking their kiss, “please, I want--”

Maedhros did not need to hear what it was she wanted, for that desire was as open to her as her own. She kissed her again and then disentangled their bodies so she could take up the contents of the parcel. Fingon whined as her hand retreated, but she was all dripping eagerness. Though the harness had been painstakingly designed to her exact needs, getting it on one-handed was still hardly quick. But Fingon was not impatient. She didn’t mind the extra time, she didn’t find it awkward or frustrating, and she did not try to move it along by offering help. If anything it had the same effect as the earlier delays had and only heightened her desire. They had a minor aesthetic clash when Maedhros finished tightening the straps. Fingon thought she looked marvelous with this contraption and, even through Fingon’s editorial lens, Maedhros thought she looked very silly, and she never liked thinking much about how she looked. But Fingon pulled her back down onto the rug before she could make herself too self-conscious.

It was not a particularly elegant arrangement, and the glass shaft between them didn’t help. “Are you sure you don’t want to move to the bed?” Maedhros asked.

“No,” replied Fingon, settling herself more comfortably under her, “I intend to completely ruin this rug you are so protective of.”

Maedhros laughed and adjusted herself over Fingon. _Now who is outrageous?_ The thought passed between them with no contradictions on Fingon’s part. Maedhros rested her weight on her right arm and on her knees and bent down to lose herself in Fingon’s lips again as Fingon guided her hand back to its earlier task. She worked methodically, matching the rhythm of her tongue to that of her fingers, applying a gentle, steady pressure against Fingon’s clit and the roof of her mouth, letting the charge build, build, build between her legs until the bond between them crackled with it, reverently savoring the modulations of the sounds Fingon dropped into her mouth, each high gasp, each panting moan, each long, needy note. Fingon bucked and squirmed, pushing her hips up. Maedhros could feel how open she was, how eager. She slid her hand down to guide the shaft that had been resting against Fingon’s thigh to her slick opening. Fingon spread her legs a little further and brought her knees up. Maedhros wrapped her mind about Fingon’s, kissed her again, and thrust her hips experimentally forward.

She had thought to work the glass appendage in slowly, that Fingon might get used to its shape, but she knew as soon as the rounded tip past the inner lips that that was not what was desired. So she pushed further in at the same meticulous pace she would have used with her own fingers. Fingon sighed thickly, long and low as the contraption slid home. They lay still for a moment, breathing raggedly. It was still strange, to be inside Fingon and yet have no real sensation of it other than the outlines she received from their bond. Stranger still was the way that could fool the senses until Maedhros almost believed she could feel, though it was understandable when it happened with her prosthetic. In that case a good portion of the phantom-feeling must have been memory. And yet Maedhros could almost believe that she felt the soft and yielding flesh cradling the shaft. She rocked forward, and was rewarded by Fingon throwing her head back and moaning with abandon, showing off the muscles in her neck beautifully. Maedhros leaned down to seal her lips to the underside of her beloved’s jaw and set her hips and her mouth to the same steady rhythm. Fingon arched into her and pulled her close with arms and legs, and it wasn’t long until her moans began to more closely resemble sobs. They reached her first peak without Maedhros replacing her hand at Fingon’s clit. Maedhros felt that sweet explosion that had her bearing down against the glass, but did not slow. She waited for Fingon to breathe again, for her to fall somehow more open than she had been with this satisfaction that was not yet satisfied before she brushed her finger again over her clit. The piercing note Fingon let out at that was extremely gratifying. She set a quicker pace with her fingers this time, kissing wildly and where she could as Fingon cried out and writhed under her.

The second time she crested she made good on her promise to ruin the rug. A spray of fluid shot from her and ah, yes, now they were getting somewhere. Again and again, Fingon would jerk and sob with pleasure as her muscles tightened around the protrusion inside her and another jet of liquid spilled onto the now-deceased rug. Between the pleasure reverberating through their bond, the _look_ of her like this, and the friction of the leather straps against her, Maedhros was close to bliss again herself. She slid her hand up to card through the coiling thatch of hair but kept the rolling pace of her hips, easing the shaft out and angling it until she found that spot, just past the hard bone of the pelvis. She changed her pace from the slow, deep roll of before to short, quick thrusts. If she had been using her fingers she’d have been rubbing that spongy patch not much differently from the way she had been rubbing Fingon’s clit. As it was, it took a bit of experimenting to get the ridge on the glass to hit just right, but once it did, _ai_ ! Again, Maedhros let the charge build and build, until she could feel Fingon struggling to resist moving her own hand down. But the whole point of this was so that that would not be necessary. Maedhros slipped her fingers back down to rub, fast and light, on her swollen clit. And then she thrust deep and stilled her hips, her fingers moving frantically. A final spurt of liquid, a few more passes over her clit, and then _there_ , Fingon gave a whimpering scream, her back almost entirely off the floor, and Maedhros groaned against her breast as she felt her inner walls fluttering against the shaft.

Time moved like honey as they lay catching their breath and basking in their closeness. The fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. Maedhros didn’t want to move, wanted to lie in the haze and buzz of almost-climax and _Fingon_ forever, but the straps were pinching, and the shaft becoming too much for Fingon. She slid it out slowly, to a satisfied sigh from Fingon, and shed the harness as quickly as she could before returning to Fingon’s arms.

“I thought,” said Fingon when she could speak in words again, “that you said you had something in mind that would not result in the destruction of your apparently prized rug.”

Maedhros laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoyed my first and probably last awkward attempt at writing explicit f/f!


End file.
